


Vascularized Composite Allotransplantation

by RatchetTrash



Series: Character Studies [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Medical Procedures, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 21:03:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6129981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RatchetTrash/pseuds/RatchetTrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whirl has his hands reattached. This is a sort of character study as to how he might react. Hint: not well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vascularized Composite Allotransplantation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kasimere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kasimere/gifts).



> EDIT: Hi people, I'm trying to raise money for my friend with MS. I'm doing commissions for donations.
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> £2 per 100 words for sfw and £3 per 100 words for nsfw
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To say that Whirl had been annoying recently would be an understatement. He was energetic, hyperactive, on a rampage through the Lost Light like a reckless child given weapons for the first time. He’d already trashed Swerve’s, terrified First Aid, barged over Magnus, and nearly shot Rodimus in the face. Still, Ratchet couldn’t bring himself to be more than mildly irritated at the mech. After all, this was a momentous event.

Rung had refused to reveal the breakthrough he and Whirl had shared. Despite the doctors’ friendship, confidentiality still overruled. The psychiatrist had stayed out of the way for most of the procedure, standing quietly in the corner of the room. A warm smile decorated his graceful features, only interjecting to make a comment about a badly articulated point from Whirl, or to calm the Wrecker’s excitable nerves. The initial consultation had taken a long time, but over the course of a couple of weeks, with constant reminders from a particularly enthusiastic Wrecker, Ratchet was able to develop from scratch, fully functional, entirely illegal hands.

He had not let Whirl see them in their developing stages for a number of reasons, not least in fear of accidental destruction. He had hardly left the medical bay, and only received stories of Whirl’s antics through Rung or First Aid. He judged the truth to be somewhere between the psychiatrist’s quiet protection, and the junior medic’s jittery hyperbole, and concluded that Whirl probably shouldn’t be provoked, even in excitement. He wasn’t about to let anything short of perfection come out of his work.

It took some time to get everything together, but it was the day that Whirl came in to say that he wanted hot rod flames on his fingers so that he could wiggle them in Rodimus’ face, that Ratchet could finally say that unfortunately that would not be able to happen because they were already finished. He feared for his med bay for the first 0.73 seconds, before a smile broke out and his spark warmed from Whirl’s obvious gratitude in his gun-waving.

On the day of the procedure, Whirl insisted that he wanted to be awake. He wanted to see the claws come off, and his hands restored. It had taken some grumbling, but Ratchet agreed to simply disable his pain receptors and clamp his arms still, if Rung deemed the Wrecker capable of handling the situation. The psychiatrist signed off on the idea, but stayed present in the room throughout just in case of any hiccups.

It didn’t go as smoothly as Ratchet had hoped. Whirl, although positive about the idea of having his hands back, had obviously forgotten about the similarity the surgery would hold to his own past experiences. He had shaken on the berth, gaze locked onto de-clawed stumps, the exposed ends of raw wires crackling as his charge pulsed in panic. Rung had stepped forward, putting his frame directly into Whirl’s sight, but the Wrecker only panicked more when he found himself unable to move his arms. After a moment’s hesitation, Ratchet decided to anaesthetise Whirl.

They were then faced an unconscious Wrecker, and the problem of deciding whether or not to proceed. Ratchet felt that his distress should be enough to pull the plug for the time being, but Rung argued that waking up with claws or nothing would be worse. Ratchet begrudgingly agreed.

The rest of the surgery was carried out in silence. First Aid had been too scared to take part, and so Ratchet worked alone while Rung sat patiently in the corner watching every connector attach, and every seam align.

It wasn’t until late the next day that Ratchet was alerted to Whirl’s awakening. The monitor next to his desk dinged when his brain activity reached conscious levels, however Ratchet figured it would take a moment for the mech to recover from the anaesthesia, so he put off checking on him. An alarmingly short amount of time had passed before an insistent beeping alerted him to Whirl unplugging his spark from the monitoring system.

It was then that Ratchet decided to check on the volatile Autobot, flicking off the squealing monitor before approaching the berth. “Whirl, how are you feeling?”

Whirl attempted to steady his position on the berth, but ended up slumping back into the cushions, looking blearily at the doctor. “Fan-dabby-dosey doctor… when’s the appointment again?” his words were slurred and as he spoke his helm dropped back to thud heavily into the headboard.

“Whirl, we’ve done it already. You’ve got your hands back,” said Ratchet.

“Whaa-”

“Take a look.”

Whirl brought his new hands up towards his head, Ratchet began talking ashamedly about calibrations and timings or something, but Whirl wasn’t listening.

He wiggled his fingers experimentally, and they functioned. It was sluggish, and one of the connectors misfired, but they functioned. “Holy frag…” His voice was quiet for once, a small crackle of static breaking through the syllables. He looked up at Ratchet again. “Can you leave now?”

Ratchet was taken aback for a moment, then remembered who he was talking to. He nodded. “I need to go through sensitivity adjustments with you, but I suppose I can do it later. Be careful though… Don’t expect to be able to do everything right away, there’s a lot of complicated circuitry in there you have to get used to all over again.” Ratchet could tell Whirl wasn’t fully aware of what he was saying, but of course it was a big occasion. He could let it slide. A hint of a smile graced his features and he turned away. He could tell Whirl was grateful… Or at least happy with the result.

Rung came by later to talk to him about what happened during the surgery, and how he was feeling now. Whirl seemed to brush off the questions, but the medic wasn’t comfortable staying, so left psychiatrist and patient alone soon after. He took the time instead to make sure all the equipment was in the right containers, as per Magnus’ official, documented, and signed orders. The Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord had found energon leak sealant in a helm fracture sealant box. Ratchet hadn’t asked why he needed helm fracture sealant, he’d been too busy to really care, just as long as he brought it back.

Once Rung had spoken to Whirl, he and Ratchet talked about a rehabilitation schedule. They decided it was best to start the following day, letting Whirl rest while also not missing out on the advantage of an early start. The quicker they got Whirl using his hands for dexterity, the better function he would be able to achieve.

The new day approached fast… Mostly because Whirl was screeching his boredom from the very first moment he had recovered from a measly three hour recharge. After some ‘persuading’ (very loud shouting) Ratchet commed Rung to accompanying him in the rehabilitation session.

 Unfortunately, Whirl’s mood seemed to deteriorate quicker than Swerve’s high-grade stockpile. Despite Ratchet’s warning, the Wrecker just didn’t seem to understand he wouldn’t be able to function his hands straight away.

“Argh! Frag it. You did it wrong Doc, it’s not working.” Whirl attempted to pick up the data-pad again, to no avail.

Rung placed a calming hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay Whirl, this is difficult for a new—”

“This isn’t new. I had hands. I had exceptional hands, frag it they were Ratchet level hands. Even with fragging claws I could pick up a slagging data pad.” He stared at the pad for a moment, before taking his brand new hand, and pummelling the thing into the table, until there was nothing but a sparking mess. Unfortunately some of that mess was parts of his newly constructed fist, as witnessed in horror from the two doctors. Neither felt suicidal enough to interrupt however, and so they simply waited until the mech’s heaving chest was the only noise in the room.

“Want me to take a look at that?” Ratchet asked.

Whirl looked at him, then down at his new appendages. His position didn’t change for a long time, he simply watched newly built energon lines leak over the table. Eventually Ratchet took initiative that if Whirl ever wanted these hands to function, he would have to let the doctor tend to the severed lines before lasting damage was caused.

At first, Whirl tore away, perhaps in shock at being able to feel touch in them at all, or maybe just pure offence that Ratchet had dared touch them. “What are you doing?”

“What is necessary.”

Rung looked between both mechs, staying quiet.

“Alright.” Whirl allowed his hands to be examined, optic sensor locked onto the appendages, as if only just realising that they were in fact a part of him now.

Ratchet assessed the damage quickly, finding three capillary lines leaking and minor plating damage.

It would have stung, but Whirl wasn’t complaining.

“Excuse me,” Ratchet muttered, needing to get a fuel line cauteriser, and the now correctly boxed energon leak sealant. When he returned he could see the two mechs through the doorframe, Rung cradling the injured hand in both of his. He was whispering something that Ratchet couldn’t hear, and stroking a soothing thumb over the outer ridge of Whirl’s servo. The psychiatrist’s glasses rested on the berth beside Whirl. The Wrecker was resting the underside of his helm on the top of Rung’s head, optic offline. Ratchet watched them for a moment, feeling something between uneasiness and endearment, before deciding it might be actively detrimental to interrupt the moment. He sent a comm to Rung.

     ::I’ll be in the other room, tell me when you’re done.::

The psychiatrist jumped slightly, broken from his preoccupation. His hand left Whirl’s, picking up his glasses. This action caused Whirl’s optic to flicker online and remove his helm from Rung’s. He looked around the room, and saw Ratchet hovering in the doorway. The CMO rolled his optics as the flier immediately wrenched his hands away and sat back, as though they had been caught fragging on the ceiling or something equally as absurd.

 “Give me your hand,” the doctor said, striding into the room, business as usual.

Whirl held out his hand. The energon was beginning to coagulate, which was a good sign, but Ratchet pipetted the energon leak sealant on the lines anyway. A crackle of feedback came from Whirl’s vocaliser, and Ratchet remembered he’d never checked the calibration of sensitivity. It would have to be done after.

He waited for the sealant to take effect, then decided the cauteriser wasn’t needed after all. It was simply a case of realigning the panelling, then running diagnostics to make any adjustments. The panelling was delicate and precise, and Ratchet secretly mourned his hard work, yet silently justified that it probably would have happened anyway. At least he had been in med bay. One of the more inconsequential panels has become too folded in on itself to be properly smoothed out, so Ratchet replaced it deftly, trying to fix everything as efficiently as he could.

Whirl appeared restless, adjusting his position and knocking Ratchet’s hands several times before apologising emphatically yet insincerely. Rung stood further back than the ‘appropriate’ distance, looking uncomfortable and adjusting his glasses continually. The distractions mildly annoyed the medic, but he said nothing. Hands completed, he ran a diagnostic check to confirm there was no further damage, and found the charge in Whirls’ servos was a little high for a mech recovering from surgery. Looking over to the tray at the side of the berth, he tried to find a certain tool, but could not.

“Ah frag. Gimme a sec,” he said again, crossing the room to root through a drawer.

“Are you not done yet?” Whirl asked impatiently.

“Not yet.” Pulling out a small key-like tool, the CMO returned to Whirl and adjusted the charge flow on his wrist. “There, that should hurt less now. You need to keep it that way for a little while, and have routine check ups to see how they’re doing.”

Whirl nodded exaggeratedly. “I know, Doc, I know,” he said. “Can I go now?” he hopped down from the berth. Ratchet placed a hand on his arm.

“You need to come back tomorrow, don’t make me send First Aid to hunt you down.”

Whirl snorted.

“I mean it. And don’t try anything too difficult. In fact, while I’m thinking about it, squeeze my wrist for me.”

Whirl sighed, an odd replication of the sound through his vocaliser. He closed his hand around Ratchet’s wrist and squeezed. It wasn’t strong, but he could just about do it.

Ratchet nodded to himself, an internal pressure count already being logged. “Alright, you can go.”

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my goodness, why do I write about surgery so much? Who knows. Well this one is kind of nudging me to do more, possibly in the form of Rung and Ratchet having a nice little chat, and Whirl struggling with his hand ownership. Any suggestions or comments would be appreciated, thanks!
> 
>  
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> EDIT: If you liked what you just read, consider commissioning me! All the money is going to a charitable cause.
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> £2 per 100 words for sfw and £3 per 100 words for nsfw
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End file.
